ls. The
husbandman went to the cottage for his bride in company with his
brother-in-law, Jacques, who rode the old gray, and carried Mother
Guillette on the crupper, while Germain returned to the farm-yard in
triumph, holding his dear little wife before him.

Then the merry cavalcade set out, escorted by the children, who ran
ahead and fired off their pistols to make the horses jump. Mother
Maurice was seated in a small cart, with Germain's three children and
the fiddlers. They led the march to the sound of their instruments.
Petit-Pierre was so handsome that his old grandmother was pride itself.
But the eager child did not stay long at her side. During a moment's
halt made on the journey, before passing through a difficult piece of
road, he slipped away and ran to beg his father to carry him in front on
the gray.

"No, no," replied Germain, "that will call forth some disagreeable joke;
we must n't do it."

"It's little that I care what the people of Saint Chartier say," said
little Marie. "Take him up, Germain, please do; I shall be prouder of
him than I am of my wedding-gown."

Germain yielded, and the pretty trio darted into the crowd borne by the
triumphant gallop of the gray.

And so it was; the people of Saint Chartier, although they were very
sarcastic, and somewhat disdainful of the neighboring parishes which had
been annexed to theirs, never thought of laughing when they saw such
a handsome husband, such a lovely wife, and a child that a king's wife
might court. Petit-Pierre was all dressed in light blue cloth, with a
smart red waistcoat so short that it descended scarcely below his chin.
The village tailor had fitted his armholes so tight that he could not
bring his two little hands together. But, oh, how proud he was! He wore
a round hat, with a black-and-gold cord, and a peacock's plume which
stuck out proudly from a tuft of guinea feathers. A bunch of flowers,
bigger than his head, covered his shoulder, and ribbons fluttered to his
feet The hemp-dresser, who was also the barber and hair-dresser of the
district, had cut his hair evenly, by covering his head with a bowl, and
clipping off the protruding locks, an infallible method for guiding the
shears. Thus arrayed, the poor child was less poetic, certainly, than
with his curls streaming in the wind, and his Saint John Baptist's
sheepskin about him; but he knew nothing of this, and everybody admired
him and said that he had quite the air of a little ma